No Shade of Grey
by Wicked Cherub
Summary: Draco liked to think of things in terms of black and white.


Title: "No Shade of Grey"  
  
Author: Wicked Cherub (06/2003)  
  
Contact: wickedcherub@hotmail.com  
  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
  
Characters: Harry, Draco  
  
Rating: Nothing explicit or traumatic.  
  
Summary: Draco liked to think of things in terms of black and white. Set in 5th year.   
  
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, not for profit, no harm intended.  
  
Notes: Originally written as a 45-minute-improvisation for the Contre La Montre challenge of colours that merge. Completely rewritten.   
  
---  
  
Draco liked to think of things in terms of black and white. He liked to think that when he was right, others were wrong, and that he was always right. It made his life so much simpler, and he had to think much less because of it, and anything to do with less effort was a good idea as far as Draco was concerned.  
  
It made sense that everything was either true, or false. Sometimes, Draco twisted the falsehoods around so deftly that they became truths. Which is why he was always right, and everyone else was wrong. Simple really.  
  
It even pleased him, looking in the mirror that morning, that his robes were a perfect clean black that contrasted with his pale skin and white hair. The heavy material showed no dust and his hair did not glint in the sunlight. He was sure he'd see Pansy's blue eyes widen slightly as he stepped into the common room.   
  
Thinking of Pansy, he smiled. Her constant devotion to him made him happy, and he shunned the things that made him sad.   
  
He trusted a few people completely, and others none at all. He retaliated against those that angered him, and he gave favours to those that respected him.  
  
On his first day of Hogwarts, Harry Potter rejected him.  
  
---  
  
Draco liked things that were well defined. There were no maybes in his world, no overlapping of ideas as he categorised anything and everything and slotted them into little boxes. Everyone at Hogwarts had been processed and tagged in Draco's mind.  
  
Some people were purely regarded as 'dumb'. This included people such as Crabbe, Goyle, and Neville Longbottom. Others, like Granger, were put in a jar marked 'Muggle Born'. Others still, were left with blank label, never to be filled in; as Draco was sure he'd never have anything to do with them.   
  
Everything had one and only one attribute in his mind, which sometimes just classified everything under 'Things I Don't Like' and 'Things I Do Like'. And though he never thought about it, those two categories were never quite equal in size.  
  
Today, the 'Things I Don't Like' list contained a potion the class was preparing. 'Potions' usually came in under 'Things That Make Me Happy Because I Can Walk All Over Harry Potter'; however, today's concoction was especially complex. If brewed with good intentions, the potion could increase a wizard's Empathy Skills. On the other hand, brewed with malice and the potion could backfire and potentially harm the maker. Draco didn't like this at all. He stopped cutting up his thistlewort and set his scalpel down.   
  
He watched Potter grind his lizard's toes slowly, wondering why he put up with Snape when he was treated so badly. If it had been Draco, he would have quit the class a long time ago. And told his father. But the git deserves it, he told himself as he raised his hand in the air.   
  
"Sir? So is this potion good for us or bad for us?"  
  
A flicker of surprise passed Snape's face as he regarded his star pupil. Potter kept on grinding.  
  
"As I said before, Mr Malfoy, the potion is complex and depends on the purpose of the maker." Snape paused before continuing. "Maybe you should pay more attention."  
  
Draco's ears tinged pink. He could hear Weasley sniggering behind him and was thankful that Snape had not added a sarcastic remark or even punishment. 'Wizard Without Pride', that Weasley.   
  
He'd wipe that smile off Weasley's face when he would catch the snitch before Potter that very afternoon.   
  
Draco thought about telling Potter that his lizard's toes were fine enough, but he couldn't think of a good enough reason.   
  
---  
  
Draco liked to know his place in the world. In fact, he knew exactly where he stood in terms of his relationships with people. They told him every day.   
  
"Oh Draco, you're *brilliant*," Pansy swooned almost hourly.   
  
"Whatever you say, you're the boss." Crabbe would nod at him.   
  
"You're a bastard, get out of my way!" He'd invariably hear from Weasley.   
  
Before the match started, however, Draco needed people to tell him that he was better than Potter. He knew this, of course, but it never hurt to hear it. He knew precisely where to look when he needed people to listen to him. Now, they were outside the Great Hall, where they all laughed at his impression of Potter and his newfound moroseness.   
  
The laughter became scattered as Potter and his sidekicks approached. Draco lifted his chin and fingered his wand in anticipation. He knew what would happen here too. Potter opened his mouth to say something to him, but he just shook his head slightly and walked on by, Granger and Weasley a step or two behind.   
  
Draco felt strangely let down as his housemates yelled insults after the trio. Potter honestly looked really sad, Draco thought. But that did not stop him from continuing his impression. He was a Malfoy, after all.   
  
---  
  
Draco liked playing against Gryffindor. Although they were the hardest team to beat, there was something about the green and red in the air that made Draco really savour the moment he walked out onto the pitch. Washed out yellow and the too-dark blue never really screamed out 'worthy opponent'. Only green and red were important enough for the whole school to attend. Only beating Gryffindor would make him, and his father, truly proud.   
  
Today, Quidditch would definitely become an element of his 'Things I Like' list. No more memories of joyous students in red would mar his thoughts on Quidditch. Today they would win.  
  
Even his black broom looked good his hand as the fourteen brooms kicked off into the air when Madame Hooch blew her whistle. Draco scanned the field for the snitch, keeping Potter in the corner of his eye. He was going to catch the snitch first. There was no other option. He had run out of excuses he could make himself believe.   
  
He was a better seeker, even if Potter had a better broom.   
  
Potter was a ghost these days. He had to win.   
  
After flying around for half an hour – Slytherins were in front, fifty to thirty, keeping an eye on Potter, there it was. A little golden flash, hovering towards him no less.   
  
He zoomed down, arm reaching out for the snitch. He was going to win.   
  
WHOMP.  
  
Pain.  
  
Suddenly the ground rose up too fast to meet him and he heard a crack as he collided with the sand.   
  
Something else landed next him with a thud, but everything was blurry. Even so, Draco could see the way his bright red blood looked on his pale arm. He liked it. *Crimson stain on snow white skin*, he thought absently. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Montague - was it Montague? – yell, "He's been hit by a bludger!" and his mind quickly classified that as 'dumb'. Of course he'd been hit by a bludg- "OW!"  
  
Draco had to wait for his eyes had to refocus and the pain to abate before he could see who had moved his arm.  
  
"Touch me again and I will make sure that you will feel my pain for as long as you're at Hogwarts." He made sure he enunciated that clearly.   
  
He felt something move away from him very quickly and it amused him.   
  
Slowly he could make out Potter's face. It had a large purple bruise across the jaw that faded into blue then yellow around the edges before blending into his olive skin.   
  
"I, umm, tried to help you, but you fell too fast. And err, congratulations. You finally beat me."  
  
The snitch was still in Draco's fingers, but Draco couldn't take his eyes of Potter. He didn't like Potter's bruise. He didn't like fact that Potter tried to save him. But then, he didn't like Potter either. He never knew how to categorise him.   
  
--- 


End file.
